


In The Grip Of Fate

by JCRGirl



Series: Just Breathe [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Established Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-16
Updated: 2013-10-16
Packaged: 2017-12-29 13:31:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1006012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JCRGirl/pseuds/JCRGirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The boys begin their lives together, but life throws them an unexpected curveball. Finally settling into their new home, they decide to visit Bobby. Sequel to Just Breathe and set approximately 6 weeks after Good Good Night with references to that timestamp. As always unbeta-ed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In The Grip Of Fate

Dean teetered precariously on the kitchen chair, tapping the nail into the newly painted drywall. He crouched down to pick up the picture leaning against the chair legs and with some slight grumbling shifted it until the wire on the back caught the nail head. Stepping down, he walked backward to eyeball the level of the frame.

_Low on the left._

He nudged the left corner up and wiped his palms together, satisfied with a job well done. That was the last thing that needed to be hung. Granted they didn’t have much in the way of decorations yet, but still this part was done. He smiled up at the picture, taken by Sam of the beach behind their cottage at sunset. Sam had it developed in black and white and enlarged for over the mantle of their new home and Dean had to agree it was a good idea.  

“Dean?” Sam’s muffled voice drifted from the kitchen.

“Yeah, Sammy.” Dean walked around the corner and snorted a laugh.

Sam was bent over at the waist, head and shoulders completely engulfed in a large box labeled ‘kitchen’ on the side, newspaper piled on the floor around the outside.

“Have you seen the pots and pans the girls from Bunnie’s bought us? I thought they were in this box.”  Sam’s ass shifted side to side as he continued to dig through the contents of the box he was half buried in. Unable to help himself, Dean stepped forward, molded his legs to the back of his brothers, and ran his palms over Sam’s ass.

“No, but I’ve seen something else.” Dean smoothed large circles over the denim covered globes.

“Dean, come on. If I’m gonna get dinner on the table some time tonight, I need pots and pans,” Sam whined, pulling his upper body out of the cardboard and newspaper. Groaning at the feel of Dean’s hands on him, he leaned back into the solid frame of his brother.

“I can think of something else you can put on the table.” Dean spun Sam around, fingers automatically reaching up to tangle in silky hair, bringing soft lips to his own.

Sam pulled back and quirked an eyebrow at his brother. “Really? That’s the best line you’ve got?”

“Hey, I’ll have you know that my lines are grade A material, able to drop panti-, uh, boxer briefs in a matter of seconds.” Dean pressed their mouths together again. His hands made a lazy path down Sam’s back to cup his ass as he backed him up toward the dining room table.

“Nice save, stud. You’re just lucky I’m an easy lay,” Sam smiled against Dean’s plush lips, sitting on the table top when it pressed into the back of his legs.

“Yep, I’m a lucky stud.” Dean leaned over, nibbling along Sam’s jaw, forcing Sam to moan as he lay flat.

_Yeah, they could order Chinese later._

 

* * *

 

“Hey, pass me some of that chicken,” Dean pointed with his fork. Sam slid the white cardboard box of sweet and sour chicken across the floor, a few spilling from the open top when the container came to an abrupt stop against Dean’s knee. They were sitting on the kitchen floor, hemmed in by boxes, Styrofoam peanuts and newspaper, the detritus associated with moving.

“You sure you want to go to Bobby’s next week?”  Dean surveyed the space, mentally listing the chores that still needed to be done.

“Yeah, it’s not like this stuff won’t be here when we get back.” Through the open archway, Sam could see the dining room table covered with miscellaneous items that they hadn’t decided where to put yet. “We haven’t seen Bobby since…well, in a long time and he did invite us. I think he kinda’ misses us a little, even though he’d probably eat his hat before admitting it. Besides, I wouldn’t mind a little vacation before school begins and with you starting work in two weeks, I don’t know when we’ll have another opportunity.”

“Because living in a house on the beach for the better part of the year was such a hardship. Not at all what most people think about when they picture going on vacation.” Dean dunked a piece of chicken in the red, syrupy sweet and sour sauce and popped it in his mouth with a smirk.

“You know what I meant, asshole.” Sam threw a fortune cookie at his brother’s head.

Dean picked up the carton of Lo Mein and dug his fork into the depths, pushing aside noodles and vegetables in search of the beef that always seemed to gravitate to the bottom. He looked up to see Sam chewing thoughtfully, eyes continually roving over every square inch of their home visible from his position.

“You okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I am.” Sam turned, smiling at his brother. “It’s just going to take some time to get used to.” At Dean’s raised eyebrow, he continued, “This is our home. Like, your name is on the deed, I can unpack my things, we don’t have to up and leave next week, home. This is where we live. Just seems surreal, you know?”

“I know. I went into the store this morning to get milk and the lady behind the counter greeted me…by name.”

Sam huffed a laugh. “Don’t laugh, man,” Dean chuckled, “I almost ‘christo’ed her out of habit.”

“Trust me, I understand. Same thing happened to me at the bank yesterday. ‘Hello, Mr. Remington’,” he mimicked in a falsetto voice, “I had to stop myself from running out the door.”

Dean nodded his head, “You gonna’ be happy here, Sammy?”

“Yeah, Dean,” Sam’s smile was soft and tender. “You?”

Dean thought for a moment. The town was small, population 2, 177 – correction 2,179 now, with one main road in and out, and close enough to South Bend that Sam could easily commute on the days he had class. The people were friendly and oddly more open-minded regarding Sam and Dean’s relationship – the gay one, their new identities concealed the incestuous aspect – for a rural Midwestern town. Sam believed it was the close proximity to a college town which exposed people to a variety of cultures and lifestyles, Dean believed in not looking a gift horse in the mouth.

They’d stayed in the only motel in the area, out by the interstate some 10 miles away, for the first three weeks while they searched for a house. Dean had already accepted a job at a fire station in South Bend - thanks in large part to a hacker friend of Bobby’s that was able to change the name on his State of Florida credentials from Dean Remington to his new alias, Dean Browning - but wasn’t scheduled to start until after the fourth of July to give them time to house hunt and set up housekeeping.

They found an affordable home quicker than either expected and while waiting for it to close, became regulars at the local stores and sole diner in town. When they pulled the Jeep and Impala into the driveway the day before, both laden with a surprisingly large number of boxes brought from Florida, – _when had they accumulated so much stuff_? - neighbors started dropping by with cakes and covered dishes welcoming them to the town. Introductions were unnecessary, everyone seemed to know them and they already seemed to know everybody. It was strange, but in a nice way.

“Yeah, Sammy. I know I will be.” He squeezed the cellophane covering his fortune cookie until the internal pressure caused one end to pop. He pulled the sugary treat out and broke it open to reveal his fate. “Your life will soon change in unexpected ways,” he read.

“In bed,” Sam added automatically.

“What do you know, Sammy. Sounds like you’re going to start getting kinky between the sheets,” Dean drawled, waggling his eyebrows and narrowly dodging the napkin Sam aimed at his head.

 

* * *

 

 

The Impala rumbled under the metal scaffolding arched over the entrance to Bobby’s place, rusted letters spelling out Singer Auto Salvage the only identifier of the business at the end of the dusty driveway. A large Rottweiler bounded down from the hood of an old Chevy truck parked near the front porch of the aging house. Extending the chain around its neck as far as it would go, the dog’s stub tail wagged back and forth in excitement as the black car rolled to a stop.

The passenger side door opened with a creak and the excited dog pulled against the restraining chain hard enough to force it up on its back legs. Feet and ankles appeared beneath the open door and the animal jumped, twisting in the air, with a beseeching whine.

“Rumsfeld, you remember me, huh?” Sam laughed at the happy dog’s antics, kneeling down to scratch behind its ears.

Dean got out and stretched, smiling at his brother affectionately playing with his childhood friend. Bobby had gotten the dog when Sam was 10 and the two had been inseparable whenever the Winchesters visited the salvage yard. Shaking his head, Dean opened the back door to pull out their duffle bags.

The hinges on the house’s front door squeaked and Sam looked up to see the familiar face of their family friend standing on the front porch. With his attention distracted, Rumsfeld took advantage and used his power and weight to knock the young man to the ground. Leaning over the supine form, the dog enthusiastically began licking over Sam’s face.

“Stop! Stop, Rumsfeld. Get down. Come on.” Sam was barely able to get the words out between laughs, hearing echoes coming from the direction of the Impala.

“Rumsfeld, enough!” Bobby’s rough voice ordered, not raised but firm.

The dog’s head snapped up at its master’s command, stepping away to sit on the ground near Sam’s knees. Still laughing, Sam hoisted himself up and brushed the dust from his jeans. “I swear, Bobby, you’re the only one that dog listens to. “ Sam wiped his hands together, sweat dampened dirt and dog hair gritting into the crevices of skin.

“Not the only one,” the older man muttered. “Well, you idgits gonna stay out in the yard or are you gonna come in.”

“We’re coming,” Dean answered, stepping up beside Sam. As Bobby turned to head back indoors, Dean leaned over and whispered in Sam’s ear, “If you want me to kiss you again today, you better wash the dog slobber off your face first.”

 

* * *

 

They had been there for three days, spending it much as they did when they were children with Dean out in Bobby’s auto shop, grease up to his elbows, and Sam in Bobby’s library, dust up his nose, with Rumsfeld at his feet. At night, Sam would cook something or another – Bobby couldn’t help but think around a bite of chili that he needed to invite them more often – then they would pull out a battered deck of cards and the cheap whiskey. It was comfortable, it was companionable, it was family.

Each night the three men drug their half-drunk selves up the stairs, Bobby retiring to his bed and passing out before he could overhear the tell-tale sounds of two twin bed frames being pushed together in the next room.

The morning of the fourth day was similar to the previous ones, the boys got up and pulled the beds apart, careful to make as little noise as possible, – _Is this really necessary, Sam? He’s old, Dean. I don’t think his heart could take this kind of shock_ – before starting their morning hygiene routines and heading down to breakfast. They were most of the way through a stack of pancakes when Bobby’s house line started to ring. Looking at the clock to check the time, the older man grumbled and rose from his chair to answer the phone.

“Hello, Singer Auto Salvage,” Bobby gruffed, obviously displeased with the early hour of the call. Dean and Sam could hear a frantic voice through the receiver, speaking fast and furious in a tone that sounded like a mix between manic and authoritative.

 _Someone in charge about to lose control_ , Dean thought.

“Hold on. We’ll be right there.” Bobby slammed down the phone.  Instinctively, both boys stood, exchanging questioning gazes at the worry and panic evident in the crinkle edged blue eyes before them.

Dean went to the hook by the back door and picked up the keys to the Impala. “Bobby, what’s going on? Is someone in trouble?”

He didn’t get an answer, only the scraping of the chair that Bobby ran into on the way out the back door.

 

* * *

 

Dust swirled up behind the back tires of the Impala, Dean coaxing as much speed from his baby as he dared on the gravelly road. “Direction, Bobby?”

“Head to the gate,” Bobby’s terse reply came from the back seat.

Turning the corner that brought the main entrance in sight, Dean planted both feet on the brake to stop the forward momentum of the car. Just this side of the perimeter fence sat a red muscle car, nose facing the main highway, deep grooves in the dirt indicating that the car had pulled in and whipped around. The gate, that in all the years the Winchester boys had been coming to this property had always been open, was pulled shut, a flurry of movement visible through the metal posts.  Squinting, Sam could make out five people moving, four figures circling around the fifth, and two on the ground motionless. Unconsciously, he leaned forward in his seat, closer to the windshield, trying to get a clearer view.

“Is that…,” he trailed off then turned, wide-eyed, to the man in the backseat. “Bobby, is that Casey?”

Dean pulled his own gaze away from the spectacle in front of him, eyes going to his brother before landing on their adopted uncle. “Bobby, is he right?”

“Less talk, more action,” Bobby growled, wrenching open the back door and taking off in the direction of the fight.

Following closely on Bobby’s heels, the brothers saw another man drop to the ground as Casey withdrew an oddly shaped silver sword from his torso. Red light flashed behind the man’s eyes, he opened his mouth on a scream only to release more of the light from the orifice before he went lifeless. Casey turned tight circles, breathlessly panting, trying to keep her remaining adversaries in sight.

“Come now, little warrior. Give it to us and we’ll let you live,” one of them said. An evil smile marred what would otherwise be the handsome face of a college aged boy.

Chest heaving in a vain attempt to pull more oxygen into her lungs, Casey’s eyes quickly darted toward the closed gate and the rag-tag cavalry coming to her rescue. A macabre smile split her face, lips and teeth coated in blood from a split upper lip, as she took off running toward the fence. She reached the metal barricade at the same time Bobby and the Winchesters did and started to scale it.

“Sam, exorcism now!” Bobby yelled, pulling on the girl’s upper arms to help her over.

Latin flowed smoothly from Sam’s lips, words memorized long ago and as easily recalled as the Pledge of Allegiance. Dean watched as the three remaining men stopped in their pursuit of the girl, bodies thrashing involuntarily as black smoke slithered from their mouths and noses. As the last word filled the air, the hosts fell limply to the ground.

“Casey. Casey, stop! You’re hurt. Let me look at you.” Dean and Sam turned to see Bobby desperately trying to hold Casey to the ground. Blood darkened both of his hands as she squirmed slickly in his grasp.

Casey leveled a gaze at him, fingers clasping his restraining forearms tightly. “Bobby,” She gasped, breaths still coming in labored pants. “Car to the house. Important. Keep safe. Now. ” She pushed him in the direction of her Judge, eyes pleading.

Bobby nodded at her reluctantly. Walking past the younger men he growled, “Get her to the house anyway you can. Hog tie her if you have to.”

They moved in unison to the girl still slumped on the ground by the fence post, jumping at the sound of Bobby slamming the car door.  Nearing her, they saw her lips moving, forming words rendered inaudible over the roar of the Judge’s engine between gulps of air, and her finger drawing symbols on the metal post. Kneeling next to her, the brothers watched her finger dip back into the wound at her side, collecting more blood to finish the sigil she was making.

Pushing up the side of her tanktop, Sam sucked in a breath at the deep cut down her flank. “Casey, we have to get you to the house. Patch you up.”

Casey weakly batted his hand away, gathered more blood on her fingers and began a circular pattern.

“This is ridiculous. Come on,” Dean moved his arms under her back and legs to pick her up.

“Wait,” she mumbled, her breathing slowing and gaining some semblance of a normal rhythm, as she darkened the lines of what appeared to be a complicated diamond. “Finished,” she exhaled, going slack against Dean’s chest, the sword she’d used earlier falling from her lax hand.

“Grab that, Sam. Let’s get out of here.” Dean hefted Casey up and carried her back to the Impala where he placed her in the back seat. Sam slipped in beside her, hands moving over her still form, searching for other injuries.

“Dean, hurry. She’s losing a lot of blood.”

Without waiting to be asked again, Dean started the car and sped back toward Bobby’s house. Before the tires completely skidded to a halt, Sam scooped the girl up and was out of the car. He bounded up the stairs and through the front door, his brother a step behind. Dean brushed past him to clear the mountain of books off the couch so Sam could lay her down, his shirt stained red with her blood. Bobby entered the room, a red tackle box in his hands.

“Sam, everything you need is in there,” Bobby pointed at the container. “Dean, can I, uh, talk to you for a minute?”

Dean began to protest but something about Bobby’s tone made him think better of it. Patting Sam on the shoulder, he stood and followed the older man into the hallway.

Sam found the items he needed and with shaky hands threaded the needle. He thanked whatever higher powers he could think of that Casey had passed out and pushed the needle through the skin. Twenty small stitches later, he wiped the sweat from his brow and taped gauze over the newly closed wound. He felt more than heard his brother return.

“She going to be okay?” Dean’s voice was low and soft; the way he spoke when he thought Sam was asleep.

“Yeah,” Sam replied over his shoulder, knuckles kneading his tired eyes.

“Good, because she’s got some serious explaining to do.”

Sam heard a soft coo and spun around. Dean was standing in the doorway to the kitchen, a small, blanketed bundle nestled in the crook of his arm.

 

* * *

 

Bobby nudged Dean out of the doorway, sidestepping around him into the Study. He crossed to where Sam knelt next to Casey by the couch and pulled a hypodermic needle from his flannel shirt pocket. Sam shuddered slightly at the sight of the needle pressing into the soft flesh of Casey’s upper arm. The last time he’d seen a syringe had been in the car on the way to Florida, right after Dean told him that he believed Casey was dead.

“What’s in that?” Dean had followed Bobby into the room and now stood behind him, jostling the baby in his arms as the coos turned to whines.

“Aza… Nevermind, basically an elephant tranquilizer. This dose would take down a baby pachyderm.” Noting the twin disbelieving stares, Bobby sighed and ran his hand over his head. “Normal human strength painkillers and tranquilizers don’t work on Casey; they’re either not powerful enough to keep her down or her body metabolizes the medication before it can take effect. We’ve experimented over the years and this seems to work the best with the least amount of side effects. She should be out for a couple of hours at the least.”

Bobby stood and motioned toward the fussing infant with his chin. “Junior there sounds like he’s getting hungry. I’m going out to see what kind of supplies Casey has in the car.” As the front door closed, Sam turned to his brother.

“What the fuck, man?”

“I don’t know.”

“No, seriously. What the fuck? We haven’t seen her in months, think she’s fucking dead and then she shows up out of nowhere…with a baby.” Sam was pacing back and forth in front of Bobby’s desk. He stopped and pinched the bridge of his nose, taking a deep breath to calm himself. Dean could tell by the repeated dropping of the f-bomb from his brother that Sam was fairly riled up.

“I .Don’t. Know. Sam. We’ll have to wait until Bobby’s concoction wears off to find out. So calm down, you’ll scare the kid.” Dean looked down at the whimpering child in his arms and tried to think of a way to soothe him until Bobby came back in, hopefully with formula.

“Baby’s got to be pretty important, right? I mean, Casey almost got herself killed trying to protect it.” Sam moved closer, warily watching the small bundle in Dean’s arms like he was afraid the baby would jump up and attack him.

“Seems like. A better question would be - what would a bunch of demons do with a baby?”  The moment the words passed his lips, Dean’s body shuddered at the thoughts his mind instantly conjured and felt a similar shiver shake through Sam.

Sam reached out tentatively and pulled the blanket surrounding the small face back for a better look, his fingertip accidentally brushing the baby’s cheek in the process. Blue-green eyes turned toward the touch and arms and legs pumped jerkily. Tiny fingers extended and curled around one of Sam’s holding the edge of the blanket and brought it to his mouth, body calming as he sucked. Dean watched them carefully, trying to gauge Sam’s reaction to the interaction. He couldn’t remember if Sam had ever been around many kids let alone babies, but the look in Sam’s eyes made it obvious he was fascinated.

The front door banged against the wall and a frustrated Bobby entered laden down with two overstuffed duffle bags and an odd shaped blue backpack.  “Little help,” he grunted, tossing his head back in the direction of the car parked outside as he shifted the bags and started up the stairs.

“Oh, yeah. Right. Sorry,” Sam blinked, pulling back gently on the finger being used as a temporary pacifier, eyes never wavering from the bundle in Dean’s arms. Dean observed him shrewdly.

“Wait, here.” Dean shifted his arms, leaning toward his brother. Sam’s right arm moved into a cradle position in time to take the baby, adjusting his hold until he felt the small weight was secure. “You take Junior and I’ll help Bobby unload the car.”

“Dean! I don’t know the first thing about babies.” Panic was evident in Sam’s eyes as he mimicked Dean’s earlier movement in an attempt to give the baby back.

Dean placed a reassuring hand on his brother’s shoulder and pushed him back. He could feel Sam’s uncertainty rolling off him in waves. “Babies are simple, Sam, especially at this age. If they’re hungry, feed them. If they’re dirty, change them. Anyway, it’s only for a few minutes and Bobby and I are right here. Just don’t drop him and you’ll be fine.” Checking that Bobby was still upstairs, Dean leaned over and placed a quick kiss to Sam’s lips then went out the front door.

Sam grimaced, completely unfooled. He’d seen the harried, worn down looks on the face of mothers of newborns and was certain that infant care entailed more than feed, change, don’t drop. He had to admit, though, that last one was pretty sound advice. He knew Dean was setting him up for disaster, a creative new way to gather embarrassing blackmail material to be used at a later date.

The baby started to snuffle and wiggle in his arms so Sam jostled the little boy just as Dean had done earlier. It didn’t seem to produce the same results as snuffles morphed into whimpering cries. How did Dean expect him to do this?

_This is the first time I’ve even held a baby._

 Sam maneuvered the baby so he rested on Sam’s chest, his small head nestled in the crook of Sam’s neck. Sam walked around the study, a slight bounce to each step like he’d seen moms on tv do, and hummed the first song that came to mind. His wide hand gently patted out the measured tempo on the diapered bottom and exchanged his lilting walk in lieu of a stationary sway.

Unconsciously, he titled his head, resting his cheek against the crown of tufted dark brown hair, and smiled when a tiny puff of exhaled air fluttered across his neck. In that moment he understood why Casey might risk her life.

 

* * *

 

Dean pulled a heavy, square nylon bag from the trunk along with two more duffel bags. Something shifted in the lighter of the two duffel bags, clanking like a grocery bag of canned goods. Grunting he hefted the bags, shut the trunk and pushed his way through the front door. Glancing into the Study to check on Sam, Dean froze. 

Sam was standing in the middle of the room, swaying left to right and humming. Dean’s forehead creased trying to pick up enough snippets of the tune to determine what song Sam was serenading the child with, but was unable to catch the melody. It was familiar, but elusive.  The baby was nestled high on Sam’s chest with his head tucked under Sam’s lowered cheek. One of Sam’s hands was cupped under the baby’s bottom, tapping in time with the song – _what the hell was the name of that song?_ -, the other was splayed wide, palm supporting the upper back and long fingers cradling the skull. The humming continued and Sam’s eyes closed like he was cherishing the peaceful moment and the small weight in his arms.

Dean was floored at the tenderness of the image, the naturalness of the contact, and his dick twitched. Stunned at his body’s response to the sight, Dean dismissed it as being at Bobby’s for three nights and Sam’s long body moving smoothly.  Yep, it was just from a need to get Sam alone, not from the sight of Sam cuddling a baby.

The infant snuffled and Sam instinctively changed his side to side rocking and began moving his hips in relaxed, lazy figure 8s, slow dancing to in time with the music. Something curled in Dean’s stomach that he couldn’t identify, but before he could examine it further his mind finally supplied the lyrics to the tune.

_Turn a whiter shade of pale_

Dean smiled fondly. When they were little, Dad had a mixed tape of softer, slower songs he’d play when the boys were sleeping and that particular song was the third one on side A. For the life of him, Dean couldn’t tell you what the first two were, just that if he started stroking Sam’s hair when the tape started by the end of Whiter Shade of Pale, Sam would be asleep. Dean may not be able to remember the first two songs, but he knew that Sam didn’t remember any past the third.

Heavy footsteps creaked on the old wooden stairs, pulling him from his memories as Bobby reappeared at his side. Standing next to Dean and watching the younger Winchester, he mumbled something about ‘never cease to amaze me’ low enough Dean wasn’t sure he was supposed to hear. They indulged in their innocent act of voyeurism for another few minutes.

“The bags upstairs were all clothes. These seemed heavier, probably supplies. Let’s open them in the Kitchen instead of lugging them upstairs just to bring them back down,” Bobby whispered, relieving the younger man of the square bag.

“Okay,” Dean murmured, then turned his attention to his younger brother. “Sammy, you okay? We need to unpack some bags.”

Completely unaware he had been watched, Sam opened his eyes and the corners of his lips curled up in a content smile. “I’m good. I’ll yell if I need help.”

The square bag revealed a constructively complex looking playpen that they set aside. The heavier of the duffel bags was a weapons carry-all, very similar to one that Dean and Sam had kept back in the day. The other contained a variety of baby needs: four small cans of liquid formula (the source of the canned goods sound), three baby bottles, a half dozen diapers, an almost empty container of wipes, baby powder, a snack-size Ziploc bag with two pacifiers and a blue baby blanket with Joseph embroidered in the corner.

“At least we can stop calling him ‘Junior’,” Dean remarked, holding the stitched name up for Bobby to see. “Little guy’s name is Joseph.”

Bobby grunted, mentally inventorying the items on the table. “Dean, this isn’t a lot of stuff. We’re going to need some more provisions.”

Dean nodded, he’d been thinking the same thing while unpacking the bag.” Let’s get little Joey in there fed and settled then Sam and I will make a grocery run.”

 

When Dean padded back into the Study, after compiling a list of items they needed from the store paying special attention to name brands and identifying words on Joey’s things, Sam had moved into the swivel desk chair. His toes pressed into the ground forcing the chair to rock backward and forward. Sam was quiet now, the hand on Joseph’s bottom still while the one on his back swept in soothing arcs.

“We found some formula for when he wakes up,” Dean muttered. Passing by the couch, he gently touched the back of his hand to Casey’s forehead checking her temperature.  He trailed his fingers down her cheek, a mixture of relief and joy filling him at the sight of her alive after so many months of thinking she’d was dead.

“He’s not asleep, just calm,” Sam replied confidently. Dean shot him a quizzical look, walking over to lean a hip on the desk next to the younger man. Sam stilled the hand circling the baby’s back and Joseph’s head lolled fitfully on Sam’s shoulder, soft mewls emanating from somewhere around Sam’s neck.

An impressed eyebrow arched over green eyes. “You’re like the Baby Whisperer.”

Sam shrugged.

“No joke, man. You’re a natural.”

“I thought babies were simple. Feed them, change them, don’t drop them.” Sam directed a wry smile at his brother.

“Yeah, well. Since Joey is awake we should get to the change him, feed him part. We gotta’ make a supply run.” Dean dug a quarter out of his pocket.

“Joey?”

“Oh, yeah. We found a baby blanket with Joseph sewn on it.” Dean shrugged. “Okay, so unbiased division of labor. Heads you feed him, tails you change him.” Dean flipped the quarter. “Tails it is. Diapers are on the table, Sammy.”

 

* * *

 

Holding Joseph while feeding him, Dean could actually feel himself getting attached, not surprising considering he’d always loved kids. Sam, though, that was a different story. Sam wasn’t attached, he was in love.  The fond look in his little brother’s eyes warmed Dean’s heart while at the same time made his pants a little tight again. _Who knew a fatherly Sam was so hot?!_

The baby gurgled and Dean glanced down. He was taken aback at the wise eyes scrutinizing him like he was a puzzle that needed to be solved. A sense of familiarity washed over him much as it had earlier listening to Sam hum a long ago forgotten song. Something he should know danced just outside the place in his mind that would be able to understand. He mulled it over as Joey finished his bottle, trying to force pieces to connect and make sense, but it felt like trying to grab smoke. Mentally shrugging it off, he figured it would come to him eventually.

Between the three men they successfully changed, fed and, with a good amount of cajoling, soothed Joey to sleep. It was less Three Men and a Baby and more Three Stooges at times, with Dean repeatedly reminding Sam and Bobby both that he was only four when Sam was a baby so he was hardly an expert, but Joey’s bottom was dry and his tummy was full. Lying the small boy down in the newly constructed playpen, Dean and Sam decided to make their trip to town.

 

* * *

 

The Impala pulled around to the back door of Bobby’s house to make unloading the groceries a little more convenient. Stepping out of the car, the brothers exchanged curious glances at the smell drifting out of the kitchen through the screen door.

“Do you smell…” Dean sniffed the air trying to pinpoint the exact fragrance.

“Garlic,” Sam supplied.

“Bobby knows how to cook something besides burgers?”

The beginning of ‘Magic Man’ floated on the air with the savory scent and the boys traded mirror image grins. Car doors slammed shut as they raced to the trunk to gather the packages. They skidded to a halt just inside the back door. Casey was bent over the open oven door pulling out a pan of lasagna, cheese and sauce bubbling on the top. She set it on the stovetop and tossed some rolls in to warm. She leaned over something on the floor and happily sang along with the song coming from an old stereo propped on the windowsill. Sam shifted to the right and saw the object of her crooning, Joey in a bouncy seat. She moved to the refrigerator, not exactly dancing, but more undulating with the rhythm of the music.

“You know,” Dean whispered, leaning into Sam to see what was on the floor as well, “if we weren’t an ‘us’, I could marry that girl.”

Still a prisoner of the beat Casey swiveled her hips, stirring a pot on the stove and singing slightly off-key. “I know. Me too,” Sam replied, smiling.

Casey turned, a blush spreading across her cheeks at being caught by the two boys. “Hi,” she squeaked then cleared her throat. “If you want, you can set those down on the table and I’ll unpack them. Dinner should be ready in about 10 minutes so you have time to wash up.”

“Should you be up and, um, dancing?” Setting the bags in his hands down, Sam’s distracted brain finally reminded him that earlier that morning he’d closed a four inch gash in her side. Joey made a cooing noise at the sound of his voice.

“Tis but a flesh wound,” Casey rattled off in a truly horrible British accent, lazy Southern drawls not really equipped to handle the inflections necessary. She rolled her eyes at their unamused expressions. “Super accelerated healing powers, remember? All part of...”

“The upgrade package,” Dean and Sam finished automatically. It was Casey’s standard deflective answer to anything that pertained to her enhanced abilities.

“The tranquilizer was really unnecessary.” She crouched down to replace the pacifier that Joey had dropped into his lap.

“Bobby’s idea, not ours. Speaking of Bobby, where is he?” Dean looked into the study but didn’t see the older man in his customary spot behind his desk.

“Resting. Joss, got up about an hour before Bobby’s little comatose cocktail wore off. I think he gave him a run for his money.”

“Joss?” Dean eyebrows scrunched together in confusion before realization dawned on him. “Oh, you mean Joey. You call him Joss?”

“Yeah, it kind of evolved and stuck, but if you want to call him Joey then by all means go ahead. I’m sure he won’t mind answering to both.” A wistful look flittered over her face before she composed herself. “Now, go wash up so we can eat. Wake Bobby on your way, please.”

 

* * *

 

Dean groaned and pushed away from the table, hands rubbing his slightly distended stomach. Sam may have learned Casey’s tricks in the kitchen but he still lacked her experience. Dinner had been an enjoyable affair with conversation covering a wide array of subjects from the belief that Casey had died back in September – ‘the reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated’ coupled with a view of the scar just below her collarbone from the bullet – to what classes Sam planned on taking in the fall – ‘just the prerequisites this semester’. They danced around the topic of the three bodies now buried between some stacks of demolished cars and, of course, the 10 pound elephant in the room. They may not have talked about him, but everyone’s attention was focused on him as his coos, faces and movements provided their dining entertainment.

As Casey and Sam cleared the table, Joey – Dean refused to call him Joss - started to fuss. His pink bottom lip jutted out as he screwed up his eyes in a face that was achingly familiar to Dean. He leaned over and lifted the baby out of the carrier he’d sat in during their meal and met Casey coming out of the kitchen with a bottle.

“I got him.” Dean neatly snatched the bottle from Casey’s hand and headed toward the study to change Joey’s diaper before giving him his dinner. He shot Sam a look over his shoulder as he walked out that clearly said ‘get some answers’.

 Sam brought the last of the dishes over to the sink already filled with soapy bubbles. Casey had turned the radio back on and was singing softly to ‘Kings and Queens’ as she slipped plates beneath the foamy surface.

“You know I’m going to ask.” Sam watched her scrub hardened cheese from one of the plates.

“I know,” she sighed.

“So? What do you know about Joey? Do you know why the demons want him? Is there something special about him?”

“Tomorrow, Sam.” She rinsed the plate and handed it to him to dry. “I promise I will tell you everything I know about that child. Just not tonight, please.”

“Remember you said that because I’m going to hold you to it.”

 

* * *

 

Sam told Dean that Casey had promised to give them the back story to Joey tomorrow, but watching the kid as he ate that weird just out of grasp notion niggling at Dean’s brain all day had snapped into focus. He was fairly certain that he was right, but didn’t think he could wait until morning to find out.  Later that night, he excused himself from the nightly poker game with a vague mention of the bathroom and quietly climbed the stairs.

Dean stood silently in the hallway, unwilling to let his presence known yet. The only light in the spare room came through the open door, but was enough to him to see by. Casey was next to the playpen peering over the edge at the baby within. Through the mesh sides, Dean could see Joey asleep on his back, one closed fist in his mouth.

Casey shut her eyes on a deep exhale and her shoulders sagged a little in relief. She opened her eyes again and smiled at the baby sucking on its hand in his sleep. Dean studied the expression on her face. He knew _that look_. He’d seen thousands of times staring back at him from mirrors and reflective surfaces throughout his life, knew the feelings associated with it – devotion, protection, adoration. It was a look you only gave to someone you loved.

Clearing his throat softly, he entered the room and stood beside her. “He’s yours.” Dean’s tone was perfectly clear, it was a statement not a question. Casey turned to him, her blank face neither admitting nor denying. It didn’t matter anyway, _that look_ had been all the confirmation he needed.

 “And Sam’s,” he added knowingly.

Casey’s face remained an impassive, unreadable mask, her eyes never wavering from his pointed glance. Even with his suspicions, the confirmation hit Dean like a physical blow.

_Sam slept with Casey.  Joey was Sam’s son. Joey was his nephew._

Chaotic emotions flooded through his system – jealousy and betrayal intertwined with love and something else. That same strange feeling he’d had earlier in the day watching Sam dancing with the baby, _correction_ his son. It was nebulous, but strong.

Dean watched as Casey’s eyes became vacant, glassing over in a faraway stare that he’d seen twice before. Her eyes, normally so dark that it was difficult to determine where pupil ended and iris began, changed, lightening in degrees until they settled at a deep caramel color. He felt this odd compulsion to maintain the visual connection even though it made him feel vulnerable and exposed.

Finally forcing his gaze away, Dean focused on the square patch of light spilling across the floor through the open door, “Is this where you tell me it didn’t mean anything?”

Casey blinked a few times and when he chanced a look back, her eyes were once again their usual shade of dark chocolate. “I wouldn’t insult your intelligence by saying it didn’t mean anything. Obviously it meant something or it wouldn’t have happened. Just not what you think.”

“Oh, yeah. And what exactly do I think?” So far their conversation had been held at a whisper, but Dean’s voice rose as his muddled feelings bled into his tone. Joey’s arm flailed, pulling his fist from his mouth, and his legs kicked irritably.

Casey leaned over the side of the playpen and ghosted her fingers across the infant’s stomach. Her other hand reached out and lightly gripped Dean’s wrist, preventing his escape. “Somnus, angelum,” she whispered before turning to Dean and motioning toward the door with her head.

She guided him down the stairs, hand still circled loosely around his wrist. Sam and Bobby were nowhere to be seen, apparently given up on Dean returning to the poker game. Casey pulled him through the Kitchen, pausing momentarily to snag two bottles of beer from the refrigerator, and out the back door. She released the hold on his arm, sat on the stoop with her elbows resting on her knees, and offered one of the beers to him. Sighing at the inevitability, Dean took the bottle and lowered himself next to her. Simultaneously, they twisted the caps off their bottles and flicked them into the nearby garbage can.

Casey took a long pull from her bottle then let it dangle between her separated knees. “He told you that he slept with someone, right? That he wasn’t a virgin?”

Dean stared straight ahead and brought his bottle up just shy of his lips, nodding in agreement before taking a swallow.

“He just didn’t tell you it was me?”

Tilting the brown bottle in his hand, Dean picked the label with the side of his thumbnail and nodded again.

Nodding her head in understanding, Casey looked up at the stars peppering the dark night sky. She watched the red and blue wing lights of an airplane as it made its way across the sky on a path to destinations unknown.

“How’d it happen?” Dean wasn’t sure if he was a glutton for punishment or too curious for his own good.

“I really think you need to ask Sam that. We both know that chivalry and respect for a dead girl’s memory is the only reason he hasn’t told you before now. He has my full permission to tell you anything you want.”

“Then why are we out here,” Dean grumbled, shaving another section of printed foil from the outside of his bottle.

“I won’t give you the details, but I thought I might be able to shed light on some things.” Casey lifted her bottle up and allowed the security light next to the garage to filter through the amber glass, checking the amount left.

“Illuminate me then,” Dean snorted.

“It’s not what you think,” Casey began.

“You already said that,” Dean up-ended his bottle, draining the last swallow, then reached over and relieved Casey of her half full one.

She closed her eyes and took a deep, calming breath before beginning again. “Sam doesn’t love me, not that way.” Dean snorted. Casey continued, irritation dripping in her voice. “I would think you of all people would know that sex and love can be mutually exclusive.”

“I know that, but this is Sam we’re talking about. He attaches emotional significance to everything. Sam wouldn’t have sex with someone unless he felt a connection with them, the pitter patter of heartstrings or some other pansy ass shit. Even if by some off chance he did, I know this kid. There’d be days of angsty ,emo, guilt ridden self-flagellation.” Dean waved his hand expressively in the air. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Casey’s face turn cold, anger etched in every line.

“Unless he was confused and desperate. Unless he was in love with a man, he never thought he could have. Unless that man kissed him like he was everything that mattered then never spoke of it again.” Dean tried to interrupt, but Casey was on a roll and gathering steam. “Unless, he decided to see if someone else would be enough. Unless that someone understood and was still willing. UNLESS,” she paused. Realizing her voice had raised in pitch during her rant, she dropped the volume to a venomous hiss, “Unless, that someone didn’t mind if he called a different name while they deep throated his dick or when he emptied his balls.” Shoulder heaving, Casey shook her head and tried to regain some control.

Dean sat in stunned silence for a moment, rocked as much by the salioresque vulgarity Casey’d packed into that last sentence as the revelations she just spewed at him.  

 _Damn! Chicklet has a mouth on her_.

“So you’re saying it was a pity fuck?” Might as well fight crudity with crudity.

“Never said that. I like sex and I think we both agree that Sam’s hot. Trust me it wasn’t a hardship.” She smirked and Dean couldn’t help but return it, if only fleetingly.

“Does Sam know Joey’s his?” Dean’s voice was low, his thumb wiping a side to side pattern through the perspiration on the neck of the beer bottle.

“He suspects. Even for brothers, your minds feel eerily similar so he’s probably made the same connections you did.” A lightning bug flew past them in the tall grass. Casey’s eyes tracked the circuitous path of the blinking yellow light seeking its partner in this life.

“Feels,” Dean questioned.

“Hmmmm?” Casey pried her eyes from the firefly’s mesmerizing mating flight. “Oh, yeah. Um, that’s sorta part of Joey’s story too so if you don’t mind can it wait until tomorrow? I’d really like to tell it once.”

Dean nodded his head, making a mental note to be sure she explained the next day along with the weird eye color thing. He had a feeling that tomorrow’s discussion was going to be exhausting.

“Dean?” Casey’s voice was tired and when he looked at her face, he could see the weariness in the bags under her eyes and the hollow of her cheeks.

“Casey, I just – I don’t…”

“Dean, you’re upset and rightfully so. I’ve dropped a large load on you tonight, but you need to decide whether you’re upset because Sam didn’t tell you or because it was me? Once you figure that out, it’ll help you sort through what you’re feeling. Just believe me when I say that you’re the only person who’s ever owned Sam’s heart.”

She leaned over and picked up Dean’s empty bottle, tossing it in the garbage can. Standing, she sighed and ran her hands over her numb buttocks to stimulate the circulation. Dean stared at his bottle and listened to her climb the stairs and cross the porch to the back door.

Casey hesitated at the screen door, fingers on the handle. Looking back over her shoulder, she smiled wryly. “I wonder,” she said softly to the world in general, “how often Sam brings up your sexual history?”

Dean twisted around to see her, but only caught the swing of the screen door shutting behind her.  God, his head hurt. What was it that really bothered him so much? Was it Sam keeping it secret? Not really. Sam was a stand up kind of guy, not the kiss and tell type. It would be like him to want to honor Casey’s privacy and memory.  Dean wouldn’t expect anything less.

So was it Casey? That was stupid, right? Wasn’t he the one who told Sam earlier that if they weren’t an ‘us’, he could marry Casey?

It was just Dean always assumed that Sam’s first was some brainiac left behind in one of the many schools he’d been in over the last few years not a girl embedded in their life, a hunter. Then that begged the question, would he had preferred Sam’s first time been with a stupid little geek girl who had no clue what she was doing? Uh, no. At least with Casey, she had the expertise and cared enough that Dean was certain Sam had a good time. Hell, he probably should pat the kid on the back for the awesome Dean worthy conquest. He was sure it was better than the awkward fumbling that was Dean’s initiation into manhood. He shuddered at the memory that dredged up.

As hurtful as Casey’s words were, she’d made some pretty valid points. Sam had been in what, before their mutual admission after the skinwalker attack, seemed like an impossible situation. He was in love with his brother and had been for a while. It took Dean forever to realize his feelings, but Sam was more self-aware and had already known. Then Dean had to go and make everything worse by kissing him then brushing it off. _Nice one, by the way_. After everything, could he really blame Sam for trying to be happy with what he could have?

  _It was supposed to be a tumble in the sheets with a high school crush, they’d move and he’d never see her again._ Dean started at that thought and the one that followed it unbidden. _Bet he’s itching to get between the little bitch’s legs right now._

Wait. What the fuck was that?  In one sentence he effectively insulted a girl that had been nothing but good to them and questioned Sam’s love and loyalty. Oh god, he was…afraid? Sam could leave him, decide what they were doing was too messed up even for them, and have the hunter equivalent of normal with Casey. They could have 2.5 hunter babies with a hunter dog and a hunter cottage with salt on the windowsills and devil’s traps on the ceiling. He rolled his eyes and took the last swallow of his beer. That sounded ridiculous even in his own mind. But still?

Casey’s words floated back to him _. Sam doesn’t love me, not that way …you’re the only person who’s ever owned Sam’s heart._

Dean stared out into the dark depths of the salvage yard. His past never bothered Sam so he refused to let Sam’s get to him. He loved Sam and he knew without a doubt that Sam loved him. That’s all that mattered, everything else was unimportant. Then he remembered the little bundle in blue upstairs. God, his head hurt.

 

* * *

 

 

Sam had pushed the two beds together like they did every night, but was resolutely staying on his own. _Just in case_. He needed to talk to Dean and his imagination kept conjuring all kinds of scenarios that conversation could lead to. Most of them ended with Sam…alone. He stared at the ceiling, mind tumbling around ideas and images and _oh god_ memories.

_His eyes roved over her face. Sam had to admit, Casey was pretty. Dark eyes, open and warm, and long dark hair spilling down her back in lazy curls. Watching her expression turn inquisitive, he couldn’t help but wonder if she would be enough. If Sam couldn’t have what he wanted, could he be happy with this?_

_Raising both hands to cup her jaw, Sam drew her closer and pressed their lips together. As their lips opened, she placed her hands on his sides, legs parting when his hip bones pressed against her knees. Slotting himself between her thighs, he deepened the kiss, tangling his fingers in her satiny hair. Her lips were soft and_ god did she know how to use them _, but something felt wrong._

Not plush. Not perfect. Not Dean _._

 _Sam broke the kiss, panting as_ Not Dean _bounced around in his head. He rested his forehead against hers, eyes closed for fear of what he’d see. He felt her small hands cradle the back of his head and neck, moving his face to the crook of her neck and holding him there in an embrace._

_“I’m sorry,” he mumbled against her skin. “I’m so-“ Guilt lodged in his throat, choking off any further apologies._

_“It’s alright, Sam. I know. I know.” The implication in her voice made him pull back sharply, eyes searching hers for meaning. Her fingertips traced over his forehead and down his cheek, curving around his jaw.  His arms encircled her and he snuggled his face back into her neck. “It’s alright. You’ll get what you want, Sam. I promise. It’s okay. I’m here if you need me.”_

_Sam lifted his head again and kissed her softly. He forced images of ash blonde hair and green eyes from his mind and slid his tongue forward when he felt her lips separate. The same feeling of wrongness was there again, but he shoved it down as his hands wiggled between her ass and the counter. Gripping tight, he lifted her and felt his dick twitch when her muscular legs encircled his waist. Not breaking the kiss, he maneuvered them toward the bedrooms. At the doorway to the room he and Dean shared, Casey’s arms shot out and grabbed the casing on each side._

_“Zoe’s room,” she murmured against his lips. Sam didn’t have enough blood left in his brain to question it at the time, but later that night as he lay next to Dean, he was grateful._

_Crawling up the bed over her, Sam was struck by nerves. “Casey, I’ve never…” She placed two fingers against his lips and smiled, rolling their positions so he was on his back.  Casey was kind and patient, gentle hands guiding him and soft words encouraging him. It didn’t last long,_ what guy’s first time does _, and he knew that at least twice he called a name that wasn’t hers, but he now understood why Dean liked sex so much. They laid together, Casey gently stroking his chest, until his breathing and heart rate returned to normal. Guilt rolled through Sam’s stomach and for a moment he felt like he might vomit._

_“Sam, it’s okay. Everything’s fine.” She threaded his fingers through his hair and tugged his head back gently, forcing him to face her. She ran her fingers over his creased brow and his stomach and heart settled. Placing a chaste kiss to his lips, she smiled. “I promise you that the next time you do that it’ll be the person you really want. Have faith.”_

_Pulling him off the bed, she nudged him toward the shower with a peck on the cheek and a stern warning to leave hot water. Thirty minutes later, they were lounging in the living room when the Kitchen door opened. Dean followed Zoe’s sarcastic ‘after you’ inside and Sam and Casey looked up from their reading._

_“Nice run,” Sam smiled, just like every other day._

Sam heard footsteps on the creaking stairs, but they were too soft and light to be anyone other than Casey. The door to the room next to theirs snicked shut quietly and through the walls he could hear her getting ready for bed.

Sam had checked on Joey on the way back from the bathroom a little while ago. Earlier, singing and soothing him to sleep, Sam had had an epiphany. It was one of those ‘aha’ moments that in movies were depicted by radiant light raining down from the heavens accompanied by angels singing.  He was so screwed. Sam sighed and started to count the cracks in the ceiling.

As he found crack number 23 - over the closet door, Sam heard heavy footfalls coming up the stairs and rolled to face the far wall. Dean entered quietly and, trying to make as little noise as possible, stripped down to his boxers. He climbed into bed, arms open, and waited for his brother to snuggle into his embrace. When Sam didn’t automatically slot himself into ‘his spot’, Dean turned to his side and propped his head in his hand.

“What’s wrong, Sammy?”

“Dean, I have to tell you something.” Sam rolled on his back, eyes glassy with fear and unshed tears. Dean waited, his eyebrow raised expectantly. “Dean, I think -” He blew out a long breath and focused his gaze back on the ceiling. “Dean, I think Joey is my son.”

“I think so too,” Dean answered without hesitation.

“Dean, I’m sorry. I should have told you. It was before I knew that you wanted me too. I swear we used a condom, but, for some reason, I know that baby is mine so I don’t know what happened. I’m so sorry. I screwed up. I love you. Please don’t leave me. I’m so, so sorry.” The words rushed out of Sam like water from a broken dam, wet eyes not meeting Dean’s. He was babbling, but he didn’t care.   

“Sam.” Dean cupped his little brother’s cheek, quieting him. “I understand why you didn’t tell me about Casey. That it wasn’t about not trusting me, but about respecting her. And unless you want me to apologize for everyone I’ve ever slept with, don’t apologize for Casey. Those things are in the past. This,” he laced their fingers together, “this is the present and the future. I’m not going anywhere. Not without you.” Dean was actually a little surprised that Sam was worried he’d leave. Even when things were mixed up earlier, that thought had never crossed his mind. His life was with Sam now. His life was Sam. “As for Joey, I’ve only been around him for a day and I already love him. Knowing that he’s yours, that he’s a part of you, only makes me love him that much more.”

Sliding his hand under Sam’s chin, he forced his brother’s eyes to his. Sam looked into Dean’s green orbs and was surprised. Dean’s expression was open and loving without the recrimination that Sam expected when rehearsing this scene in his head.

Dean leaned down and kissed Sam’s shock slackened lips. Sam’s free hand came up and cradled the back of his brother’s head as his tongue licked its way into Dean’s mouth. Dean petted down Sam’s side, fingers dipping beneath the waistband of his boxers only to be batted away.

“Dean, we can’t.”

“Why not?” Dean did _not_ whine.

“We’re at Bobby’s.”

“So?”

“The walls are too thin. Casey will hear us.”

“The things that come out of her mouth, she’ll probably enjoy it.”

“We might wake the baby.”

_Crap._

Dean stopped trying to weasel his hand into his brother’s shorts and relaxed back onto the bed. “We should try to get some sleep. I have a feeling tomorrow is gonna suck.”

Sam moved in, placing his head on Dean’s chest and his hand over his heart. He sighed and closed his eyes to the feeling of fingers caressing the scars on his left arm.

Dean nuzzled his nose into Sam’s silky locks and kissed the top of his head. With Sam half on top of him, Dean smiled at the feeling of _mine_ that flooded him. Like the flipping of a light switch, Dean realized the strange feeling he had earlier was possessiveness…over Joey. Joey was his just as much as Sam was and he’d do anything to keep them both safe.

 

* * *

 

Sam heard the sound of a drawer sliding shut and cracked an eye to find their bedroom filled with the soft buttery glow of morning. Dean stood near the foot of the bed, pulling a worn grey t-shirt over his head. Feeling Sam’s gaze, he turned and moved to the side of the bed.

“Get some more sleep, Sam. It’s still early.” Dean leaned over and brushed his lips over his brother’s, watching the slit hazel eye close as sleep once again claimed Sam. He closed the door behind him quietly and the headed toward the stairs, following the smell of coffee. Passing the spare room’s slightly ajar door, he saw the bed was made and the playpen empty, indicating that Casey and his nephew were already awake. Smiling, he went down the stairs two at a time.

Bobby sat at the Kitchen table, pouring over a large leather-bound tome. Peaking over the older man’s shoulder on his way to the coffee pot, a picture of a man with loose, pale skin and red eyes taking a bite out of a mutilated woman’s arm caught his eye. The woman’s torso was flayed open exposing her shattered rib cage and mangled internal organs.

“A little before breakfast reading, Bobby?”  Dean shuddered slightly and continued on his quest for caffeine.

“Rufus thinks he might be after a rugaru and wanted to know how to kill the damn thing.” Bobby turned the page, the image now hidden under small lines of text.

“A rugaru? Doesn’t Sam get that on his salads?” Dean lifted the mug to his nose and inhaled the rich aroma, allowing the scent to clear away the last vestiges of sleep.

“Aren’t you just a laugh riot first thing in the morning,” Bobby smirked.

“What can I say, I’m a triple threat. Looks, brains and a sense of humor.” Leaning back against the counter, Dean craned his neck to peer into the Study. “Where are Casey and Joey?”

“She said something about taking that carrier-carseat thing out to the car so it wouldn’t be under foot.”

“Huh.” Dean pushed off the counter and made his way through the Study to the bay windows that faced the front of the house. Pushing aside the lace shrouding the glass panes, Dean always assumed the handmade curtains were placed by Bobby’s late wife Karen, he peered out to find Casey seated on the front steps with Joey, carrier forgotten on the porch behind her. The baby lie in his mother’s lap, body matching perfectly to the length of her upper legs, feet snug to her abdomen and head propped on her knees. Casey’s arms fitted along Joey’s side creating a protective wall of flesh, bone and blood while her hands cupped his skull, shielding it from the hardness of her joints. Through the single paned window, he could hear the soft sounds of Joey happily gurgling and Casey’s answering baby babbles.

Dean started at the feeling of arms circling his waist and a warmth pressing into the side of his neck. Jerking to the side, Dean shot a quizzical look back in the direction of the Kitchen.

“He’s in the basement. I just wanted to say Good Morning.” Sam dropped his arms from around his brother and sidestepped so they stood shoulder to shoulder. “What are you looking at?” He pushed back the crocheted fabric on the other side of the window, affording him a view of the maternal scene outside. Nodding his head, he took Dean’s coffee cup from his hand and sipped the dark liquid with a grimace.

Smirking, Dean lifted his mug from Sam’s hand. “If you don’t like it black, get your own.”

Beyond the glass barrier, Casey’s voice filtered to them. “Shhh, angelum. There is someone I want you to meet.” She whistled softly and Rumsfeld loped over to sit next to her on the stoop. “Rumsfeld, this is Joss. You will protect him just like you always have his father.”  Dean looked over at Sam, his face a mask of confusion, but Sam’s gaze remained focused outside. Feeling his brother tense, Dean turned to see the Rottweiler’s massive head dip down close to Joey. The dog’s muzzle hovered inches above the small form and Dean felt Sam’s fear for his son battling with his trust of its mother.  Large, wet nostrils flared as Rumsfeld acquainted himself with Joey’s smell before moving its head to Casey’s shoulder, giving the side of her face a small lick. Sam relaxed slightly when the dog lay down on the porch at Casey’s hip.

“You know, Casey gave me Rumsfeld.” Bobby’s gravelly voice sounded from behind them, startling both men. “I told her once that Sam wanted a dog but John wouldn’t let him have one. The next thing I know this pup shows up with a note saying that all children should have a pet.”

Dean turned to reply, to ask what Casey meant about the dog protecting Sam, when Rumsfeld’s whine captured the attention of all three men. Looking out the window was like watching interspecies synchronized swimming. In unison, Casey’s, Rumsfeld’s and Joey’s heads all turn to the left, peering through the early morning mist and gutted remnants of Detroit’s heyday. Joey’s happy noises went silent as Casey’s eyes narrowed and the Rottweiler’s hackles rose, his lips curling back to reveal sharp teeth. Without tearing her gaze away, Casey reached behind her to the carrier and curling her fingers under the plastic frame, pulled it closer.  Joey was carefully placed in the padded lining and his mother leaned back into the solid frame of the dog beside her.

“Take Joss in the house. Straight to Dean, Sam or Bobby. No one else.” She rubbed gently under the dog’s chin and received a lick to the shoulder in reply. Dean stared wide-eyed as the massive black hound crossed behind the girl, took the handle to the carrier in his mouth and headed for the front door.

“Door,” Casey screamed, arm winding its way around her back and pulling a gun from the holster Dean didn’t realize she was carrying.

Dean felt a flurry of movement as Bobby hurried to the open the front door and relieve the dog of the small infant. On muscle memory, Dean’s hand went to the small of his back only to be reminded that he and Sam hadn’t carried weapons since settling into civilian life. Empty air surrounded him and he realized that Sam wasn’t at the window anymore. Turning, he found Sam rummaging through the top right drawer of Bobby’s desk. Pulling out two 9mm guns, he tossed one to Dean and after checking the magazine of the one in his hand, moved to the front door.

By the time the Winchesters reached her side, Casey was standing a few feet in front of the porch, head pivoting from left to right. Flanking her, the brothers followed her line of sight trying to discern what danger she was detecting. Two figures moved out of the foggy morning air: one, a tall black man with pockmarked cheeks, coming from the left and the other, a slender girl with flaming red hair, from the right. Sam swallowed as the memory of dark woods in the crisp North Carolina air swept over him along with phantom echoes of searing pain.

“What’s going on,” Dean murmured as the two figures drew near.

“Don’t know,” Casey whispered, “Shapeshifter on the left, werewolf on the right. Silver will kill both, but I’m loaded with regular rounds.” Dean and Sam traded grimaces over her head. Their guns were just as useless as hers.

Casey caught the twin frowns and gritted her teeth in frustration. She moved slightly forward, blocking Sam as the shapeshifter moved toward him. The man’s lips curled into a sneer at her show of protectiveness. “They don’t want him anymore. We want the baby.”

“You touch a hair on that baby’s head and it will be the last thing you ever do,” Dean growled over his shoulder as he squared off against the werewolf.

The redhead graced him with a feral smile, eyes and teeth glinting in the weak morning light. She tilted her head up slightly and sniffed the air. “What are you going to do, hunter? I can smell your bullets. Tssk, tssk tssk. Lead not silver. That isn’t going to do you much good against us.”

“I’m sorry.” Dean and Sam both cautioned a glance at Casey’s quietly spoken words. Her head was down but her jaw was firm and set.

“For what,” Sam asked.

“This.” Dropping her gun from her right hand, Dean watched as she reached out and curled the fingers of her left hand around Sam’s bare forearm.

Sam was overwhelmed by the oddest sensation of someone reaching into his chest, grabbing hold of something between his heart and stomach and pulling it out of him. At the same time, warmth pooled at the base of his skull and traveled down his spine like someone had poured bath water down his back. He felt weak, the only thing keeping him on his feet, the hard grasp of the girl next to him.

Casey took a deep breath and stretched her hand out to the shapeshifter, the man’s smug smile fading as he was stopped in his tracks. Casey jerked her arm to the right and the shapeshifter followed its path through the air, landing with a thud against the burnt out remains of a ’65 Mustang.  Quickly moving her focus to the werewolf, she repeated the motion sending the girl into a ’74 Ford F150.

Sam forced his eyes to open, not even sure when he’d closed them, and saw Casey’s other hand out in front of her with fingers splayed wide. The two creatures were gathering themselves and advancing on the trio again. Dean opened his mouth to suggest a speedy retreat, but was stunned into silence when the man and girl seemed to bounce off an imaginary blockade. If Dean hadn’t been so stunned, it might have been funny. Two evil things, fuming with rage, stuck like mimes in a glass box.

“Shoot now,” Casey gasped, her voice little more than a strained croak.

Dean saw the flash off the barrel and heard the retort of the gun, a split second before the girl fell into the dust. A heartbeat later, a second crack split the air and the man was downed as well. Casey’s hand released its hold on Sam’s arm and he fell to his knees, pale and panting. Closing his eyes against the building nausea in his stomach, Sam heard Casey collapse next to him.

“Sam! Casey!” Dean’s concerned voice cut through the fog clouding Sam’s brain. With effort, he opened his eyes and met the worried green of his brother’s.

“Help Sam into the house.” Casey pushed at Dean’s shoulder, her other hand coming up to wipe at her nose. Her hand came away bloody and she sighed at the sight. “Go on. I’ll take care of this and be in soon.”

Dean hefted Sam from the ground and the two stumbled up the stairs and into the house like college boys after a frat party. Bobby passed them at the front door, scurrying down the stairs to Casey’s side. Sam and Dean stopped just inside the doorway and turned to see the older man gathering the girl in his arms and lifting her from the ground. With more care and tenderness than either Winchester thought he possessed, Bobby guided her into the house and seated her on the sofa in the Study. He went back out the door grumbling lowly about a backhoe and digging more graves than the mafia.

Dean eased Sam into the overstuffed chair then rounded on Casey. “I think it’s time we had that talk.”

Casey sighed, crossing to Bobby’s desk where Joey sat on the floor in his carrier, Rumsfeld lying next to him. “Fuck,” she said, lifting the baby from the carseat. “I don’t even know where to start.”

“How about with that little display outside,” Dean ground out, dropping angrily onto the couch.

“O-kay, I guess we’ll start with me then. Bobby said he told you some of this. What all do you know?” She walked over and placed Joey in Dean’s lap. The weight across his legs calmed him and he felt some of the irritation dissipate.

 “Basically, that you are descended from a group of baby girls chosen and blessed by angels. Not much else.” Sam watched Joey grab onto Dean’s finger and wave it back and forth, gurgling at the silly faces Dean was making at him.

“And your vague and mysterious references to ‘upgrade package’,” Dean added, nipping at the tiny fingers around his with lip covered teeth.

“Where to begin, where to being,” Casey mumbled, pacing back and forth. Rumsfeld’s head lifted from his crossed paws to track her movements. “Crap! I’ve never had to explain this before.  Okay. You already know that we’re stronger, faster and, of course, the expedited healing properties.”

“Why ‘of course’,” Dean interrupted.

“You can’t fight if you’re injured so the faster we heal, the faster we return to the battle.” She paused, eyes becoming haunted.

“But you’re different.” Dean prompted. So far, Casey hadn’t said anything to explain what happened outside.

“Right. I am _the_ freak among freaks. I can do things no one else can or ever has been able to. I can sense truth. I know when I am being lied to or when something is being hidden from me and I can _make_ someone be honest. I can see to the heart of any situation, past subterfuges and distractions. It’s also the reason I can detect demons and supernatural beings. But as useful as that can be its little more than a parlor trick. What really cements my freak status? I’m a conduit. I can channel and magnify the powers of others.”

“That’s what happened outside.” Sam’s slumped back in the chair at the revelation.

“Wait, wait, wait. Outside you channeled his powers? What powers?” Dean’s leg began tapping in frustration until he remembered Joey in his lap. He stroked a finger over the baby’s soft cheek in apology.

“Telekinesis. You already knew he was psychic. This is just another aspect, like the visions. I just tapped into it.”

“What? Sam’s not - ,” Dean sat up straight, looking to his brother for confirmation. Joey woken from his light doze, fussed at the abrupt change in position. Casey lifted a plaid diaper bag from the floor and rummaged through until she found a pale green pacifier. She passed it over and Dean rubbed the rubber nub over the whining child’s lips until his mouth opened.

Reverting back to her pacing, Casey ran a hand over her face irritably. “Yeah, he is. I’ve spent the majority of the last ten months trying to figure out why the demons were so bent on getting a hold of Sam. I mean, they were so desperate they used a skinwalker and a vampire to get their hands on him. Even demons have standards and most would rather exorcise themselves than deal with viral and genetic freaks. Zoe and I finally caught up with this demon, some big deal hell spawn, named Tom. I… convinced him to tell us what he knew about why Sam had a price on his head.

According to Tom, your home wasn’t the only one the demon – his name’s Azazel by the way - went to in 1983. Dozens of babies were visited by the son of a bitch as part of a larger plan. Azazel kept tabs on these children over the years, placing people in their lives to garner trust: teachers, friends, neighbors, doctors.”

“Why?” Sam’s sounded so small and lost.

“The idea was to use these people to manipulate and corrupt the children, push them, nudge them to their side. You were designed to be hell’s version of us. Humans, gifted with psychic abilities, fighting on their side in a war between heaven and hell. Generals to lead their demon army when the time came. Fighting fire with fire or, more precisely, superhuman with superhuman.”

 “What’s changed?” Sam’s voice croaked. “If the demon has been watching me all these years, why did it decide now to come after me?”

“Your relationship with Dean. Even before,” She waved her hand in the air, “your connection was stronger than normal brothers and Azazel knew it would be difficult to get to you while Dean was around. But as lovers, it would be almost impossible. So he decided to separate you from him before the new bond could be forged.”

 “Why should we believe this Tom?” Dean’s voice was hushed to keep from disturbing Joey who was sleeping soundly in his lap, but the suspicion and anger rang through clearly. “Demons lie. It’s what they do. Even if he wasn’t, who’s to say he knew what he was talking about. I mean, we’ve been hunting this bastard our whole lives and never heard of it attacking others.”

“First off, what part of lie detector did you not understand,” she asked, pointing a finger at her own chest. “Second, Tom knew what he was talking about. He was the bastard’s son. And finally, I think you’d be surprised what your Dad knew that he never shared.”

Dean felt sucker punched. He remembered a long ago conversation he’d overheard between Zoe and Casey - _Winchester knows more than he’s telling anyone_ \- _He’s lying, not flat out, but through omission_.  Did Dad know the demon’s plan for Sam? Did he know what Sam could have become? Dean looked over at Casey and she nodded, her eyes softened in sympathy.

“What does this have to do with Joey? The shapeshifter said he didn’t want me anymore. He wanted Joey.” Sam stood and walked over to Dean. Leaning down, he scooped the sleeping baby out of his brother’s lap and cradled him to his chest.

Casey sighed. “Joseph Samuel, named for my father and his, is the offspring of a General of heaven and a General of hell.” Sam’s breath hitched and Dean realized that his brother hadn’t known for sure that Joey was his until now. “Normally this would be a major cause for concern on both sides, but add in my talents and Sam’s…”

“They’re terrified,” Dean finished.

“Something like that, yeah. Neither side is sure what his abilities will be when they manifest, but they both agree that he will be powerful and they want him. I’ve been dodging demons for months, but they’ve ramped up their efforts since he was born.”

“Where’s Zoe in all this? She just left you to deal with this shit on your own? What? Didn’t want to help take care of a baby?” Dean’s tone was harsh. Last year Zoe damned near brained him because Casey was shot while protecting him and now she wasn’t around when Casey clearly needed her help.

Casey’s eyes flashed cold and dangerous.  “Watch your fucking mouth. Zoe loved Joss. Hell, she gave him the nickname.”

“Loved?” Sam was swaying Joey back and forth trying to keep him asleep despite the growing tension in the room.

“Zoe’s dead,” Casey managed, biting her lower lip. “Tom’s sister took exception to us sending him back downstairs and decided to kill two birds with one stone – get Joss and a little payback. Zoe protected us, gave me enough time to get away with him and it cost her her life.” Casey’s hand automatically went to her necklace and for the first time Sam noticed she now wore two medallions instead of one. A reminder of your mortality hanging around your neck, the only reminder people will have of your life.

“Casey, I’m so-,” Dean began.

“Just – don’t. Okay.” Casey rubbed her hand over her forehead.

“You said that both sides want him. Does that mean angels are after him too?” Fear gripped Sam’s heart at the thought.

“No.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because she made a fucking deal.” The deep baritone voice rumbled through the room forcing the trio to turn toward the doorway. Standing next to a dirt smudged Bobby was John Trotter.

“Deal?” Bobby’s bellow shook the small room.

“It’s not what you think.” Casey’s eyes were wide like a child who’d been caught by an angry parent. Bobby was across the room before she finished the sentence, grabbing her shoulders in a grip tight enough to blanch his knuckles.

“What did you do?” Bobby shook her, the force bobbling her head back and forth. Sam was floored. They’d known Bobby their whole lives and he was the epitome of calm and collected. He never raised his voice, never lost his cool, but this was Bobby on the edge. His blue eyes boiled with rage and his voice echoed off the walls. Rumsfeld rose from the floor and moved to Casey’s side, his large head trying to wedge between the older man and the girl.

Casey made no effort to stop Bobby. “It’s not what you think,” Casey repeated in a whisper, tears springing to the corners of her eyes.

“Bobby, stop. You’ll hurt her.” Dean sprang to his feet.

Shock crossed the older man’s face. He let go of Casey, hands hovering above the red impressions he’d made on her skin. In one swift motion, Bobby enveloped her, crushing her body to his. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, voice choked with emotion,“You and these boys are all the family I have.”

“I promise. I’m not going anywhere. It wasn’t that kind of deal.” Bobby released her and moved to the fireplace, staring into the depths of the ashes at the bottom, trying to regain some composure over himself.

“No? So you didn’t forfeit your body and soul to the angels,” Trotter asked, filling each word with as much hatred and disgust he could muster. He dropped his bag in the entry and pushed into the room, his anger a suffocating blanket in the crowded space.

 Joey’s pacifier dropped from quivering mouth, Sam catching it before it could fall to the ground. He nudged the tiny lips, coaxing them around the nub, then nuzzled the baby’s head with his face and gently shushed his whimpers. Trotter glanced over at the father and son with cold eyes.

“No more than my birthright did. I just reconfirmed my commitment.” Casey’s voice contained venom of its own, but her expression was tender when she looked over her shoulder to check on Bobby. “Look, the angels are faced with two separate but interrelated issues right now. First, there’s Joss, who they’re unsure how to handle. All they know for certain is that he will be a powerful force for either side and that if they come after him, I would take him and hide. Just like I have with the demons. Go so deep that they’d spend the rest of my natural life and his looking for us.

 Which leads to their other dilemma – they’re short their two highest ranking Generals right now. With Zoe,” she paused, “gone, they’re desperate to get me back.  So, I made a deal. I would be allowed time to find a suitable home for Joey, one that could handle his unique situation, then I had to return home, completely to their service. I have to give him up, relinquish my claim as mother. Unless there is a serious threat to his life, I will be forbidden from having any direct contact with him. In exchange, the angels adopt a ‘wait and see’ policy concerning him. “

“What the hell does that mean?” Dean wandered over to Sam and brushed his fingers across the soft, brown baby fuzz on top of Joey’s head.

“Despite what the demons seem to think, Joss’ destiny is not carved in stone. Nowhere was it written that he would be an agent for one side or the other. He is still human and governed by free will. His choices will determine his fate, nothing else. The angels have agreed to let him make those choices and pray he doesn’t make the wrong ones.”

“What happens if he doesn’t make the right decisions,” Bobby questioned, speaking for the first time since his outburst at Casey.  He turned his drawn and tired face toward the room, gaze landing on the infant nestled in Sam’s arms.

“He’ll be dealt with.” Casey’s tone held a finality to it that caused a shiver to run up Sam’s spine. He pressed a soft kiss to the top of Joss’ head. Confronted with horrified looks, Casey added, “That’s why I made them let me choose his home. If I wasn’t going to be there to guide him, I wanted to find someone who could. Please,” Casey’s eyes begged them to understand, “this is his only option. If I don’t uphold my end of the bargain, if I try to take him and run, we’ll be hunted to the end of our days. That’s not what I want for him – always on the run, never knowing if today will be the day they catch him. This is his chance at a life.”

Dean got it, he really did, and seeing Sam and Bobby’s faces, he knew they did too.  Bobby sighed and crossed to Casey, who was still watching them with beseeching eyes, squeezing her shoulder as he went into the Kitchen. Casey relaxed at Bobby’s acceptance and purposefully avoided Trotter’s unreadable gaze to focus her attention on the two remaining people she felt could condemn her actions. The sounds of Bobby’s movements in the next room – water turning on to wash his dirty face, chair legs scraping across tile, a cork unstoppering a bottle, liquid pouring into a glass - were loud in the near silent Study, jarring the inhabitants and thickening the awkward anticipation hanging in the air.

Dean cleared his throat, breaking the mute standoff. “Have you decided who gets him?” Dean watched Sam’s body tense at the question, hands tightening slightly on the small boy’s body. Apparently, Sam’s large brain hadn’t processed that far.

“Not yet. I wanted to give his father an opportunity first.” Trotter snorted and Casey turned glowering eyes to him. “If Sam can’t take him then he’ll go to Trotter.”

Realization dawned on Dean and he just knew that if he looked up he would see a lit lightbulb above his head. Trotter wanted Joey. It was written in every line on his face and the desire in his eyes. Dean had figured out back in North Carolina that Trotter was in love with Casey and now that the angels owned her soul, it looked like he decided to go with the next best thing, her son.

“Um,” Casey started tiredly, “I know that this is a lot to be dropped on you guys at one time. I don’t expect an answer right now, but I will need one by tomorrow night. I am supposed to be back in North Carolina by Sunday morning so I have to leave early Saturday at the latest.” Her eyes flittered from one brother to the other. “Why don’t you give me Joss, Sam? I know we’ve monopolized your time since we arrived. I’m just going to take him upstairs for a nap.”

Sam begrudgingly gave the infant over to her, his face a blank mask. He fidgeted his empty arms, unsure what to do with them without the warm weight to hold, first crossing them then letting them hang to his side.

Casey scooted past the larger man and called over her shoulder as she ascended the stairs. “Trotter, why don’t you see where Bobby wants you to sleep?”

The three men stood in place, listening to her footsteps on the creaking steps followed by the soft shutting of a door. Dean looked over to see Trotter eying Sam with a calculating gaze. “You know he’s better off with me, right? I can protect him better than you could ever dream of,” Trotter spat.

Sam lifted vacant eyes to Trotter’s face, but didn’t make any attempt to move or speak. Dean walked to his little brother’s side and cupped his elbow. “Come on, Sammy. Let’s go for a drive.”

Sam turned his head toward Dean then raised his gaze to the ceiling in the approximate direction of Casey and Joey’s room. Tugging him into the Kitchen, Dean urged, “They’re fine. I think you need some fresh air.”

Bobby was seated at the table again, staring blankly at the reference book on rugarus with a glass half full of amber liquid next to his hand. Shuffling Sam through the space, Dean snatched the keys from the ring by the backdoor. “Bobby, Sam and I are going for a drive. We’ll be back in a little bit.” Bobby nodded his head without looking up from the text.

 

* * *

 

Dean glanced at his brother in the passenger seat. Sam had been quiet and withdrawn since leaving the house, his face expressionless and distant. Dean knew this look, he’d seen it the Christmas that Sam learned the truth and the first time Sam went on a hunt. It was his little brother when he was overwhelmed. It reminded Dean of that Star Trek episode where they confused the computer into overloading and it shut down.

He turned off the road onto a gravel path and, coming up to a clearing, cut the engine to the Impala. Opening his door, he inhaled the clean summer air and tilted his face toward the bright sunshine. When Sam didn’t exit, Dean walked around and opened the passenger door.

“Walk with me?” Dean held out his hand and waited. Sam blinked a few times before volleying his gaze between Dean’s outstretched hand and his face. As if waking from a dream, Sam slowly reached out and allowed his older brother to pull him from the car. They made their way to the trailhead. It was a place they both knew well, coming here in their youth when they stayed at Bobby’s for any length of time.

Walking down the beaten path, Dean’s mind turned over the conversation at the house. Once you cut through all the explanations and arguing, you were left with one question – what to do with Joey? Sam was the logical one, thought things through five steps in the future. Dean could practically hear Sam’s mind running the calculations for the yearly cost of formula and diapers, visualizing Dean’s work schedule and his own school schedule. Dean always went with his guts, acting on baser instincts that kept him alive in a hunt. Dean knew what he wanted, knew as soon as he realized the little boy was Sam’s. He wanted Joey, wanted them to raise him as their own. He didn’t need to calculate or visualize. If other people could do it so could they. But in the end, it wasn’t up to him. Joey was Sam’s and the decision ultimately rested with him.

When they made it to the creek bed, Sam stopped and watched the water roll and tumble over the rocks lining both sides. Dean stood beside him, shoulders brushing.

“Sammy. Talk to me.”

“I love him, Dean. I don’t know how it will work, but I want him. I-I’ll understand if you want to go. I mean, you didn’t sign up for a baby, but he’s my son,” Sam swallowed past the lump in his throat. “I can’t walk away from him.”

Dean placed his hand on Sam’s shoulder and pulled until Sam was facing him. Water shimmered in Sam’s eyes before falling down his cheeks and Dean brushed it away with his thumb. He curled his hand around the back of Sam’s neck and tugged until their lips met. The kiss was slow and deep, full of love and meaning.

“I’m not going anywhere, Sam. I want him too. We’ll figure it out just like we always do,” Dean smiled, leaning up to kiss him again.

“Really? You’re sure?”

“I’m positive.”

Sam’s smile was blinding and Dean was helpless to do anything but return it. Large hands rose and cupped Dean’s face, bringing them together again. Their joy mingled and multiplied, coupled with the low level desire that had been thrumming through their system from being at Bobby’s, quickly escalating the soft press of lips into something more urgent.

Dean’s hands went to Sam’s hips and guided him to a grassy area a little further back from the stream. Lowering Sam gently to the soft blades, Dean covered his body, mouth moving to the long expanse of neck. He kissed his way down and bit gently at the one spot he knew would make his younger brother shiver. Mouthing his way back up to Sam’s ear, he nibbled at the lobe and drug his tongue around the shell.

“I love you, Sammy, and I love our boy,” Dean whispered huskily in his ear.

 _Our boy_. Sam shuddered as the words coursed through him and ignited a fire under his skin. He wiggled and writhed under Dean, worming his hand between their bodies. He pulled and pushed at belts, buttons and zippers until both pairs of jeans and boxers were down around their knees. Gyrating his hips and arching his back, Sam hissed when his cock slid against Dean’s.

“Oh, God. Sam!” Dean pressed his palms down in the soft ground next to Sam’s head and supported his upper body, giving Sam room to wrap his hand around them both. His mind whirled. They were going to be a family - him, Sam and Joey. It was more than he ever dreamed he could have, ever dared hope for. He was so lost in his thoughts that his building orgasm took him by surprise. A few strokes, pre-come easing the slide of their flesh together and in the circle of Sam’s hand, and Dean cried out as he erupted. Breathing heavily, he felt warmth splash against his chest and knew that Sam had followed him over the edge.

Arms shaking, he rolled over and lay next to Sam in the grass. He turned his head to face his brother when he felt long, strong fingers interlace with his own. Sam face was a myriad of emotions: love, awe, gratitude. They lay in the warm grass, listening to the forest alive around them. The noise of the babbling creek nearby combined with their sated state to lull them into sleep.

The buzz of a fly woke Dean a short time later and he rolled on his side to face Sam. He ran his finger feather light down Sam’s nose, tapping the mole on his cheek. The corners of Sam’s lips twitched into a smile.

“Thought you were sleeping.” Dean smirked as Sam slowly opened his eyes.

“Been awake for a little while. Thinking.”

“About what, Sammy?” Like Dean didn’t know. What doesn’t he know about his little brother?

“Dean, are you really sure about Joey? Babies are a lot of work. Our lives will never be the same.” Sam bit at his lower lip, eyes open and honest.

Dean propped up on his elbow and leaned over using his teeth to rescue Sam’s lip from the self-inflicted torture. He licked over the abused flesh and kissed him again, tongues tangling in languid strokes. Running his fingertips down Sam’s cheek, Dean studied Sam with a serious expression. He huffed a sigh and let his eyes drift until they caught on something on the other side of the creek.

“Sam,” Dean hesitated, gaze firmly focused across the water and tone grave. Sam’s heart clenched, waiting for the axe to fall. “I don’t know,” Dean paused and Sam swallowed hard, “if we should do his nursery in racecars or sports. What do you think?” Dean grinned wide, Sam’s heart warming at the sight.

“I think I love you.”

“Get dressed. Let’s go see our boy.”

 

 

* * *

 

Dean and Sam playfully shoved each other as they entered the unusually quiet house. Stopping just inside the entryway, Dean craned his neck to peer into the Study. Finding it empty, he shrugged at Sam and cocked his head to the side, ear directed at the ceiling above them to listen for sounds upstairs.

“You think Joey’s still asleep?” Sam looked down at his watch. “We’ve been gone for a couple of hours.”

“Could be. Babies that small still need a lot of sleep. Where’s everyone else then?”

Sam rocked up on the balls of his feet and looked out one of the small windows set high in the front door. “The Pinto’s still here so Bobby’s probably out back working on that Chevy half-ton again. Don’t know about Casey and Trotter.”

The back screen door’s wood frame slammed against the door casing, cracking the silence, and the boys traded _guess that answers that_ looks.  A deep bass voice drifted on the air, too low to make out the actual words, followed by a small splash. With arched eyebrows, the Winchesters moved into the Study toward the Kitchen.

“Damnit, Trotter,” Casey seethed, causing Sam and Dean to stop just out of sight. “We’re not talking about this.”

“ _Yes, we are_. You are making a huge mistake here. Just because the moose has a nice ass doesn’t mean he should get Joss.” Trotter’s voice was barely raised, but still louder than they had ever heard it. Dean held back a snort at the man’s insult of his brother.

_Should a man that resembles a small grizzly really be throwing around animal insults? Glass houses and all…_

Sam crept forward, peeking around the side of the archway. With a flick of his wrist, he motioned for Dean to move quickly across the opening to the other side. It seemed Sam’s trek on the moral high road stopped when the conversation was about him. Dean dared a glance. Casey was at the Kitchen sink filled with bubbly water, a newly cleaned plate clutched tightly in her hand. Trotter stood a few feet away, hip cocked against the counter and arms crossed over his barrel chest.

Shaking the excess water from the plate with two quick, jerky shakes of her hand, Casey set it none too gently in the strainer next to the sink. She turned to face the larger man, wet hands on her hips soaking into the material of her shirt.

“Funny,” she replied flatly. “The _moose_ is Joss’ father. If anyone should get him, it’s his father.” Her face was hard as she glared at Trotter. “The decision is Sam’s. If he wants him, then Joss will go with them. If he doesn’t, you can take Joss home with you.  You want to keep talking then go ahead and waste your breath, but I have things to do.” She turned away from him, picked up another plate and dropped it into the sudsy water.  

Trotter watched her run the plastic bristled scrub brush over the surface of the plate, mind visibly working over the words to launch the next angle of his attack. An odd expression passed over his face, somewhere between triumphant and cruel. “Sam’s just a child, Casey. You’re putting the future of your son in the hands of a teenager. You might as well go slit Joss’ throat now. It’ll be better than what the angels will do to him when Sam fails.”

Dean pried his eyes away from Trotter’s face, seeking his brother’s across the way. Sam’s face was pale, his eyes wide and afraid, and uncertainty clouded his features. His gaze rolled automatically, just as it had earlier, to the ceiling in the vague direction of where he assumed his son slept. Sam’s balled fist flew up to his mouth - Dean wasn’t sure if it was to keep from making a sound or so he wouldn’t throw up – and he bit the tender flesh on the back of his hand.

Molten anger burned through Dean’s veins at the self-doubt written all over Sam at Trotter’s words. His attention was drawn back to the Kitchen when Casey slammed the clean plate down in the rack, rattling the others already drying there. Her shoulders were tense and shook as she took great heaving breaths. She turned eyes blazing with a cold fire to her long-time friend.

“He’s not a child,” she answered, pure fury to match Dean’s infusing her words. “He’s a fucking Winchester. They don’t know how to fail.”

Dean heard Sam echo Trotter’s surprised gasp. He darted a quick look at his brother and his heart swelled in affection for Casey at the sight. The color had returned to Sam’s cheeks and the fear in his eyes had been replaced with determination. Her words had reminded Sam of who he was and given him back the confidence that Trotter had stolen. Dean could see that Sam would wrestle the hellhounds themselves to protect his son.

Trotter seemed to shrink under Casey’s penetrating stare. He held his hands up in surrender and stepped back until he could pull open the screen door. Casey’s gaze didn’t waver until the springed door bounced off the casing. She snatched a glass off the counter, the thin sides shattering under her strong grip.

Dean bumped into Sam’s as they hurried to her side. As Dean reached into a drawer for a clean dishtowel, Sam took her bleeding hand in his own.

“There’s a piece of glass stuck in there. I’m going to have to pull it out.” Sam’s face was scrunched up in sympathy, knowing it was going to hurt. Shaking her head in frustration, Casey waved her other hand in a _go ahead_ gesture. Sam firmly grasped the triangular piece between his fingers and pulled it free in one swift motion. Dean nudged him with the towel and bent to grab the first aid kit from under the sink.  Sam guided her over to a chair and ducked his head to examine the severity of the cut.

“Thanks,” he murmured, looking up at her from under his bangs. She smiled slightly and nodded, wincing when Sam prodded the open wound.

“Here.” Dean popped the lid on the first aid kit and set it at Sam’s elbow.

Sam set Casey’s hand down on the table and nodded his thanks to his brother. Poking through the supplies, he sighed. “I want him,” he began and catching Dean’s eye, amended, “We want him.” He pulled an alcohol wipe from the box and tore open the package. Focused on his task, he added in a small voice, “If-if you really think he’s better off with me.”

Casey studied Sam’s face for a minute. “It’s settled then.”

 

* * *

 

Sam sat at the Kitchen table, Joey cradled between his forearms, resting on the length of his thighs. Dean stole glances out of the corner of his eye from his spot next to Casey at the sink. Last night Sam had helped clean up after dinner so it was only fair that Dean take a turn, but he didn’t know how effective he was being when he looked down to see that in his distraction the end of the towel had dipped into the dish water. Casey rolled her eyes as he squeezed the water from the edge and handed him the last pot to dry.

Dinner had been colder than a witch’s tit – _what? It was one of John Winchester’s favorite expressions_ – with Trotter and Casey doing their best to pretend the other didn’t exist. The tension was so thick that when Joey woke from his nap crying, Sam, Dean and Bobby all jumped up, racing to get him. Sam won only because his legs were longer and he could take the stairs three at a time. He came back to the table a few minutes later with a bottle and a hungry baby. Seeing Sam feeding Joey, Trotter threw his napkin in his plate and curtly excused himself. The rumble of his pick-up truck rattled the pictures on the walls.  No one had seen him since and really Dean could care less. Any lingering gratitude he’d had for the man for saving Sam last year went right out the window earlier.

Casey pulled the plug, letting the water drain, and dried her hands on a spare towel hanging on the oven door. “You boys wait here a minute, I have some things we need to look over.” She disappeared upstairs, calling to Bobby to join them on her way back.

She dropped a manila envelope on the table as they each took a seat. Sam adjusted Joey to his shoulder and eyed the package. It was stuffed full, the duo-tang fastener barely keeping the flap closed. Without preamble, Casey opened the envelope and dumped the contents out. Binder clipped stacks of papers, loose papers and half a dozen checkbooks slid across the varnished table top.

“What’s all this?” Dean asked, catching one of the vinyl covered checkbooks before it fell on the floor.

“If you and Sam are going to take Joss, there are some things that need to be taken care of first. I don’t want anyone,” she glanced at the back door, “to contest your right to him.” Casey picked up the thickest stack of papers first. “I had my lawyer draw up some papers showing me giving full custody of Joss to Sam.” She thumbed to a page marked with a cellophane tab with a yellow arrow and the words SIGN HERE. She creased the flipped pages to keep them from closing and pushed the stack toward Sam. “I already signed them. All you have to do, Sam, is sign above your name. Bobby, if you and Dean could sign as witnesses that would be great.”

Dean held out his hands for Joey, snuggling the baby against his chest when he was handed over. Sam picked up the pen, but hesitated, questioning eyes on his brother. Dean nodded his head in encouragement and stroked Joey’s back while Sam penned his name on documents that would make him theirs.  Dean shooed off Sam’s attempt to take Joey back so Dean could sign, merely adjusting his hold on the baby and scratching Dean Browning on one of the witness lines. Bobby drug the papers closer and followed suit.

“Good,” Casey murmured distractedly when Bobby slid the papers back to her. She dug through the loose sheets and pulled out a light blue half piece of paper with a dark blue border. In the lower left corner Dean could see the seal for the State of Florida. Sam stared at it for a moment with a half-awed, half-proud smile before turning it for Dean to see. It was Joey’s birth certificate with Sam’s Remington alias printed in bold black letters as Name of Father. He figured that Casey would make Joey’s last name Remington to match Sam’s new identity, but something about seeing Joseph Samuel Remington made Dean’s stomach ache. Tracing a finger over the name, he vowed that Joey would always know that no matter what his birth certificate may say, he was a Winchester.

Casey went over the other sheets, some legal documents that Sam needed to sign and others medical data on Joey and herself – in case they needed her history in the future. When all the papers had been put back in the envelope, Casey addressed the multi-colored checkbooks.

“I took the liberty of setting up some checking accounts for you guys and depositing a little money in them. Most are in both of your names, but a couple are in Joss’ name with y’all listed as the guardians. It should help with the expense of raising a baby.”

“We don’t need your money, Casey,” Dean protested, his pride unwilling to let them accept what it perceived as charity. He had a job lined up and could damn well provide for his family.

“Joss is my son. It would all be his one day anyway. This is my way of ensuring he gets it.” Casey shrugged.

Sam picked up one of the checkbooks and, flipping to the register, nearly choked on his own spit. He checked the beginning balances of the other accounts to find similar amounts.

“Casey..” He looked at her dumbly, shock evident on his face.

“What’s the matter, Sam?” Dean leaned over concerned and sucked in a harsh breath at the 0s. _What the hell? “_ Casey, where did you get this kind of money?”

Bobby snickered, “They don’t know do they?”

Casey rolled her eyes and shook her head. “My overseas accounts,” she stated simply. “I’m transferring some domestic funds around and liquefying a few assets so there will be more deposits soon.”

 _Overseas accounts? Assets? More deposits?_!

Both brothers were struck speechless. Sam’s mind wheeled. They had a couple thousand dollars in a savings account at the local bank from working while in Florida and it was more money than they’d ever had growing up. What was already in these accounts was more than the budget of several decent sized cities…combined.

“Casey, we can’t take this.” Dean apparently had moved past his shock and gained control of his voice again.

“Yes, you can,” she said firmly. “Look, not that it’s any of your business, but I still have enough in my domestic accounts to offer you and Sam an indecent proposal every night for a month. And that doesn’t take into account what I own in property. Plus Zoe left me enough money to keep in the lap of epicurean luxury for the rest of my life. We fight our whole lives and tend to die young. It doesn’t leave a lot of time for frivolous spending. Just take it. Like I said, it’s all technically Joss’ anyway.”

“Thanks,” Sam mumbled, words feeling inadequate in his mouth.

Casey smiled warmly at him. “Just remember that when tax time rolls around. I’m going to give Joey a bath and put him to bed.” She got up and kissed all three men on the cheek before taking Joey from Dean and heading up the stairs.

Dean and Sam stared at each other with open mouths. Bobby went to the refrigerator and pulled out three bottles of beer. Laughing, he set them on the table and twisted the caps off. He picked up one, tilted the neck in their direction and toasted them. “Here’s to the goddamn Rockefellers of northern Indiana.”

They sat and drank for a long time. Dean describing all the things he could buy now while Sam shot each one down with an admonishment that they weren’t going to ‘Brewster’ away the money. Three beers later while Dean was trying to explain the necessity of a multi-media room, headlights moved across the wall followed by the sound of a large pick-up truck pulling into the drive.

“Sounds like Trotter’s back,” Bobby mumbled.

Sam and Dean considered that their queue and decided it was time to go to bed.

 

* * *

 

 

Sam opened his eyes in the darkened room, not sure what had woken him. He looked over at the clock on the nightstand and groaned at the blue display showing 5:14. Disentangling from Dean, he got up and stumbled across the hall to the bathroom. Eyes closed against the moonlight streaming through the window in the hallway, Sam walked with his hand out, hoping he wouldn’t run into the door. A sound pricked his ears and he stopped, wondering if he’d imagined it. There it was again. It took his sleep addled brain a few minutes to figure out it was Joey, through the partially open door to Casey’s room, starting to wake up.

Forcing his eyes open, Sam pushed the door all the way open. Casey’s bed was empty and Joey was moving restlessly in the playpen.  Just as Sam reached the side, Joey’s small face contorted, his rose -colored bottom lip jutted out, and he let out a piteous wail. Sam leaned over and scooped up his son before his cries got any louder and rocked him in his arms.

“Where’s your Mommy, huh?” Sam cooed soothingly. He pulled a diaper from the bag next to the playpen and laid Joey on the bed to change his pants.

“Sammy?” Dean appeared in the doorway, fists scrubbing the sleep from his eyes and yawning. “Everything alright?”

“Yeah, Dean. Joey was crying so I was going to change his diaper and get him a bottle. I don’t know where Casey is. I’m sorry I woke you. Go back to bed.” Sam secured the self-adhesive tabs on the sides of the diaper and ran his fingertips lightly over Joey’s exposed stomach. The baby squirmed under the ticklish sensation.

“You didn’t wake me. This did.”

“Huh?” Sam turned to see Dean holding up a small plastic box about the size of a Walkman. “What is that?”

Dean reached under the shade of the lamp on the dresser and flicked the switch, bathing the room in a soft, amber light. On the dresser stood a matching box except this one had a red light in one corner. “I think it’s a baby monitor.”

“Why was there a baby monitor in our room?” Sam snapped the legs of Joey’s onesie, realizing that hearing Joey through the monitor must have woke him up.

“I dunno.” Dean yawned and scratched his stomach. His eyes traveled over the room, hand stilling mid-scratch. Blinking hard to clear away sleep, Dean’s eyebrows scrunched together in confusion as he really looked around the room. Moving quickly, he went to the window and pulled back the curtain. As he passed the dresser, a folded piece of paper fluttered to the ground.

“Casey’s car is gone. So is Trotter’s truck.” Dean turned back to the room to see Sam pick up the paper and unfold it.

“She’s gone.” Sam muttered, then reading aloud. “Please tell him I loved him.”

 

* * *

 

Dean ran a hand over his face to try and scrub away the weariness. Six hours of asphalt lay behind them and he figured they were still about an hour from Madison. Joey had so far been a good traveling baby – just as his father was - waking briefly near the Minnesota-Wisconsin border to fuss crankily. Sam had been able to soothe him back to sleep and the last few hours had been peaceful with Motorhead low in the background.

He and Sam had made a supply run to the local Wal-Mart yesterday to stock up on baby items for the trip and had found a mirror that could sit in the back window so when looking in the rearview mirror they could see Joey in his rear-facing carrier.  Even after over 500 miles it still stunned him to see a gray carseat strapped in the middle of the Impala’s backseat.

_Better get used to it._

Sam was worried about Joey. The baby had lost its mother and gained two strangers, all within 48 hours. He was concerned that an eleven hour car ride might be too much. So they’d stayed at Bobby’s for another two days after Casey’s middle of the night disappearing act to allow Joey a little time to get used to them.  Dean couldn’t help but think it was unnecessary. Joey seemed as taken with them as they were with him. He snuggled into them when he was held and turned toward their voices when they spoke.  It didn’t seem like much, but what all could you expect from a five week old infant.

Glancing at his brother, the corner of Dean’s mouth twitched into the beginnings of a smile. Sam was folded in the passenger seat, head lolled back against the headrest facing Dean with his mouth hanging open. It was nice that with all the changes in their lives some things remained the same. Flicking his eyes to the rearview mirror to check on Joey, the twitch morphed into a fond smile. The youngest Winchester was in a mirrored position of his father right down to the open mouth. Dean could make out the light green of his pacifier lying on his chest where it must have fallen from sleep slackened lips. As he watched, Joey’s mouth moved, sucking on a phantom pacifier.

Mile markers flew by as they sped toward home. _Home_. Dean had always known that home was wherever Sammy was, be it a seedy hotel in some no name town or a run-down duplex in BFE. The idea of settling down, hell, of having a family and kids had never crossed his mind. Dean Winchester was a hunter, plain and simple. He was the man his father wanted him to be. He slept, ate and breathed for the hunt. He was a soldier, a hammer to be wielded by John Winchester in his all-consuming quest for revenge.  His dreams were his father’s and his life was forfeit. Until last year when Sam helped him realize that he was more than a hunter.

Now? Home was still wherever Sammy was, but now it was a tri-level in a small farm town in northern Indiana. They were settled with money to their name – a helluva lot of money, but Dean couldn’t think about that right now – and more importantly, they were a family with a son of their own. Dean Winchester was a man, complex and multi-faceted. He was evolving into the man that his brother had always believed him to be. He slept, ate and breathed for his new life. He was a partner, a companion who was cherished by Sam Winchester in the small moments that matter. His dreams were his own and his life was meaningful. Since last year, Dean had discovered how much more he really was.  He was a fire fighter, a lover, a father and above all a brother.

The numbers on the distance signs dwindled as they approached Madison. It would be a good time to stop and stretch, maybe get a little lunch for them and Joey. They’d left Sioux Falls not long after Joey’s pre-dawn bottle and stopped a few hours later so they could all have breakfast, but that had been a while ago. Dean’s morning coffee was making his bladder a pressing issue and if he didn’t uncontort Sam soon there maybe irreparable damage to his spine. Eyes peeled for somewhere suitable to eat, he finally saw a sign for a Cracker Barrel – What? Sam liked the Dumplings – at the next exit. Leaving the interstate, he carefully pulled into a spot at the side of the brown building.

Knuckling his eyes, he allowed his body a minute to adjust to the absence of the road’s vibrations through the Impala’s metal frame. Letting out a sigh, he gently ran his fingers down Sam’s cheek to wake him, unwilling to borrow trouble by kissing him in a crowded parking lot.

“Come on, Sasquatch. Lunch.” Sam blinked blearily, raising an eyebrow at Dean’s choice of eating establishment. Normally, Dean hated chain restaurants, but he’d be damned if he took Joey into any of the questionable places they’d been over the years.

Their table, set firmly in the “Non-Smoking” section, allowed Dean a view of the Impala in the parking lot, her glossy black paint job shining in the sun.  Sam picked up the menu to peruse the choices while Dean leaned over the table to ask Joey if chicken fried steak sounded good, receiving a happy gurgle in response.

Kid already has good taste.

 Waiting for their food, Sam got Joey a bottle ready and they resumed the debate that had been continuously running for the last few days regarding nursery themes. Dean was leaning toward racecars, but Sam was more inclined toward sports. Each side lobbied hard for their theme, giving persuasive decorating ideas and details, but so far neither had been swayed.

The debate was called on the account of food when their meals arrived. Dean offered to finish feeding Joey so Sam could eat, but his brother just shook his head. Dean smiled fondly as his brother ate with his right hand and held Joey’s bottle with his left.

Yeah, he was a natural.

Their meal was punctuated by a continual stream of waitstaff and customers stopping to coo at Joey and comment on his utter level of cuteness – Damn straight. People stuttered over congratulations to the father, looking confusedly back and forth between the two men, not sure where to direct the compliments. With a prideful smile, Dean clarified any unasked questions or awkward lingering pauses that Sam was Joey’s father. They managed each interruption with indulgent smiles and heartfelt ‘thank-you’s, trying to eat in between. Dean only got upset once during the entire meal when, upon hearing Joey’s parentage, an elderly lady turned judgmental eyes on his brother’s young face and clucked her tongue disapprovingly. He noticed that Sam lost his appetite shortly after she walked away. 

_Yeah. Sam maybe young, but he’s seen things these yokels couldn’t imagine in their worst nightmares. The old broad would probably go apeshit if she knew they were lovers, brotherly aspect aside._

He made a snarky joke and nudged Sam’s foot under the table, smirking his best ‘fuck them’ smile. Sam lifted his eyes to Dean’s and gave him a small smile in return before spearing another dumpling.

After they finished, Sam took Joey to the bathroom to change his diaper while Dean paid the bill - with the addition of a small blue chenille bunny from the store section of the restaurant. They walked out to the Impala, Joey’s carrier hanging between them, handle hooked in the bend of Sam’s elbow. Dean pulled the small toy from the brown paper bag smiling sheepishly and blushed under Sam’s laughing tease that he was already wrapped around Joey’s tiny finger.

Holding the back door open so Sam could put Joey in the back, Dean’s eyes roved the parking lot – old habits die hard – and met the piercing gaze of the elderly lady from inside, walking toward a Buick LeSabre with her husband.  A devious grin crossed his face and he crowded in closer to Sam’s bent form. When Sam stood up, looking over his shoulder with a questioning smile, Dean spun him around and pulled him down into a deep kiss.

When they parted Sam smiled goofily and plucked the keys from Dean’s front pocket. Dean turned and, with a lascivious smile, winked at the highly affronted looking couple. Sam cupped his face, eyebrow quirked in amusement, as his eyes flickered to the woman and her husband.

“Feel better?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“You ready to take our son home, Dean?”

“Hell, yes. Let’s go, Sammy.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> This series will continue as the Joey Verse.


End file.
